The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor cut through the suffocating stillness. Fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the room, making the woman beneath the white sheets seem even more fragile, as though the cold itself were trying to steal her away..

  Ethan sat rigid in the chair beside Eve’s bed, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had turned white. His breath came in slow, controlled inhales, but his heart was hammering against his ribs.

  She looked lifeless. Her chest barely rose and fell, the color in her skin drained. If not for the machines keeping track of her vitals, she could have been mistaken for a corpse.

  And he couldn’t do a damn thing.

  Orin stood beside him, silent, his golden eyes fixed on Eve with something unreadable in his expression. He exhaled slowly, shifting slightly as if adjusting to the weight of the world itself.

  “You said you could track what did this.” Ethan finally spoke, his voice low and taut. “Can something be done?”

  Orin didn’t answer immediately. He stared at Eve, his brows furrowing slightly, before finally speaking.

  “Not entirely,” Orin said softly, a rare tremor in his voice. “But... I can bring her back—for now.”

  Ethan’s head snapped toward him, disbelief flashing in his eyes.

  “What do you mean?”

  Orin’s fingers curled at his sides. His voice carried an unusual weight.

  “The damage has already been done, Ethan.” He turned his gaze to him, his golden irises reflecting the dim hospital lights. “What was taken from her—it’s gone. Completely restoring her life force is impossible.”

  A hollow dread twisted through Ethan’s stomach, his fingers digging into the armrest as if bracing for impact.

  “Then—” Ethan’s voice cracked, raw with desperation, “—what the hell are you saying?”

  Orin inhaled, his gaze never breaking. “I can return enough to wake her.”

  Silence.

  Ethan felt something inside him tighten, coil like a spring about to snap.

  “Then do it.”

  No hesitation. No second thoughts.

  Orin gave a shallow nod, though tension tightened his jaw. He moved to Eve’s side with deliberate care, each step weighted by the burden he was about to bear. His expression remained calm—controlled—but Ethan noticed something else.

  A flicker of tension in his jaw. A deep inhale, like someone bracing for impact.

  Ethan almost questioned it. But before he could speak, Orin lifted a hand.

  And then the air shifted.

  Golden light sparked at Orin’s fingertips, faint as a dying ember—until it flared brighter, sending a ripple through the room, a pulse of something ancient and unspoken.

  Ethan’s breath hitched sharply as the air thickened around him, a suffocating pressure pressing down on his chest. He could feel it—something unseen, something ancient stirring in the room. The weight in the air. The sensation creeping against his skin, like something alive.

  Orin exhaled sharply, lowering his hand until his palm hovered just above Eve’s chest.

  A soft whisper, almost too faint to hear—

  “This... will take more from me than I can afford to give.”

  The golden light sank into her.

  A pulse.

  Ethan flinched, a sharp static crackling at the edges of his perception.

  The heart monitor stuttered.

  Another pulse.

  Eve’s fingers twitched.

  Ethan lunged forward, grabbing her hand. His breath hitched. “Eve?!”

  Then—her breathing hitched.

  Her lashes fluttered, a fragile spark of life. Then, finally—blessedly—her eyes opened.

  Ethan felt something inside him shatter.

  He had been holding his breath without realizing it. The flood of emotions slammed into him—relief, disbelief, something dangerously close to fear.

  But most of all—he had her back.

  Eve’s gaze was unfocused at first, her pupils struggling to adjust to the light. Her lips parted slightly, her breath uneven. Her chest rose in a shallow inhale—then another.

  Then, slowly, her gaze shifted. To him.

  Her brows furrowed weakly. Her voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

  “…Ethan?”

  His throat closed up. A million words fought to escape him, but he couldn’t speak. His chest ached, his vision blurred, and before he knew it, he had both hands around hers, clutching onto her like she’d disappear if he let go.

  “Yeah,” Ethan whispered, voice cracking under the weight of relief. “I’m right here.”

  Her lips parted again, as if to say something. But no words came.

  She looked exhausted. Weak. Confused.

  But she was alive.

  Ethan’s hands trembled around hers. He tried to steady them, tried to keep his voice level, but his emotions crashed over him in waves.

  He had almost lost her.

  Eve swallowed, her throat dry. She blinked at him, still trying to ground herself.

  “…What… happened?”

  Ethan opened his mouth—but no words came.

  Because he didn’t know how to explain it.

  She exhaled weakly, confusion flickering across her features. Her eyes flickered between Ethan and Orin.

  “…Why do I feel so… strange?”

  Ethan’s pulse spiked. He turned, as if to find the answer behind him.

  Orin stood still, his shoulders slightly tenser than before. His breathing was measured, but something had changed.

  Ethan’s gaze narrowed slightly.

  “That… took something out of you, didn’t it?”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Orin exhaled, his fingers curling slightly before he forced them into a fist.

  “…It’s nothing.”

  Ethan wasn’t blind. He saw it—the exhaustion etched into Orin’s frame, the unspoken toll behind his guarded eyes.

  Orin had done something impossible. He had pulled Eve back from the edge. And it hadn’t been free.

  Ethan turned back to Eve, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He forced a small, unsteady smile.

  “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “You’re okay.”

  She didn’t look convinced. But she was too weak to question it.

  The tension in her body eased slightly. Her eyes fluttered shut for half a second before blinking back open.

  Ethan exhaled shakily, squeezing her hand once more.

  He wouldn’t let her slip away again.

  Ethan sat beside Eve’s hospital bed, fingers curled into his jeans as he watched her breathe. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, something so simple—so normal—but after everything that had happened, he couldn’t stop watching.

  She was awake.

  And yet, he still couldn’t shake the knot in his stomach.

  Dr. Mercer flipped through his notes, his expression unreadable. “Your vitals are stable. No signs of lingering distress, no abnormalities in your scans.” His voice was calm, clinical. But there was something off in his eyes.

  Ethan had seen that look before—a man who didn’t have an answer but refused to say it out loud.

  “You seem fine,” Mercer continued, “but to be blunt, this doesn’t make sense.”

  Eve frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Mercer exhaled slowly. “We ran every test available when you were admitted. You had no external injuries, no infections, no medical history that would indicate sudden organ failure.” He paused, flipping back through the pages as if expecting a different answer to appear. “Yet your body was shutting down—as if you had reached the end of your natural lifespan.”

  A silence stretched in the room.

  Ethan’s grip on his knees tightened.

  Mercer set the file aside, folding his arms. “And now, hours later, you’re sitting up and talking as if nothing happened.” He glanced at her, voice even but measured. “Can you explain that?”

  Eve blinked, caught off guard. “I—” She hesitated. “No?”

  Mercer studied her, then sighed. “Did you experience anything strange before collapsing? Any dizziness, numbness, flashes of light? Anything at all?”

  Eve’s brows furrowed. “No… I don’t remember anything. I was just waiting for Ethan, and then…” She shook her head. “It’s blank.”

  Ethan clenched his jaw. She didn’t remember.

  Mercer ran a hand over his face. “I’ll be honest. If I didn’t see it for myself, I’d call it impossible. But right now, there’s no medical reason to keep you here.” His gaze lingered on her, his frown deepening. “Still, I’d advise taking it easy for the next few days. If you feel anything off—even if it seems minor—come back immediately.”

  Eve nodded slowly. “Right. Understood.”

  Mercer exhaled, tapping his pen against the clipboard. He seemed to hesitate, as if weighing his next words, before simply giving Ethan a brief glance. Then, with a nod, he left the room.

  As the door clicked shut behind him, an uneasy silence settled between the three of them.

  Ethan turned to Eve. “You sure you feel okay?”

  Eve gave him a small, tired smile. “You’re looking at me like I cheated death.”

  Ethan didn’t answer.

  Because she did.

  Eve’s eyes flickered to Orin, who had been silent the entire time, standing near the window, arms crossed. His golden gaze met hers, unreadable.

  “Who’s this?” she asked curiously.

  Ethan hesitated. What the hell was he supposed to say?

  Orin finally stepped forward, his expression neutral. “Orin,” he said simply. “A friend of Ethan’s.”

  Eve raised a brow at Ethan. “Since when do you make new friends?”

  Ethan let out a dry chuckle. “Since recently.”

  She studied Orin for another second, as if trying to place where she’d seen him before. But, of course, she hadn’t.

  She let it go, stretching slightly as she shifted her legs off the bed.

  Then—her body swayed.

  Ethan was at her side instantly, hands gripping her shoulders. “Eve?”

  She let out a slow breath, blinking rapidly. “I—” She frowned, pressing a hand to her chest. “That was weird.”

  Ethan’s stomach coiled with unease. “What was?”

  “I feel fine... but it’s like my body isn’t convinced it should be.”

  Ethan’s fingers dug into her arms. Because you weren’t supposed to be.

  His eyes darted to Orin, who stood completely still, gaze sharp as he observed Eve’s movements.

  He knew.

  Ethan’s jaw locked, but he didn’t press it. Not here. Not yet.

  Eve took a slow breath, then forced a small smile. “I’m okay. Maybe I just stood up too fast.”

  Ethan didn’t believe that. Not for a second. But before he could push, she reached out and squeezed his wrist—a small, silent reassurance.

  “Let’s go home,” she whispered, fragile but certain—pulling Ethan back from the edge, even as the weight of what lay ahead clawed at him.

  Ethan exhaled, steadying himself before nodding.

  “We’ll take you home,” he said firmly.

  Orin gave a small nod. “Let’s go.”

  As Ethan helped her to her feet, he caught the way Orin’s gaze lingered on her—watching. Waiting.

  And Ethan hated that he was doing the same.

  This wasn’t over.

  The quiet hum of the car engine faded as Ethan pulled up in front of the apartment building. He glanced over at Eve, who was leaning against the window, her eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. She was awake—but barely.

  “Hey,” Ethan whispered. “We’re here.”

  Eve blinked slowly, lifting her head. She gave a soft, tired smile. “Home sweet home…”

  Her voice was faint, but hearing it—hearing her—made Ethan’s chest ache in ways he couldn’t explain.

  “Let’s get you inside,” he said gently.

  Eve tried to push herself up, but her body betrayed her. Without thinking, Ethan was at her side, his arm steadying her as he helped her out of the car. She didn’t protest. She just leaned into him.

  As they reached the entrance, Eve’s lips quirked in a faint smile. “You know… I always thought our first time going home together would be under better circumstances.”

  Ethan chuckled softly, more out of relief than humor. “Yeah, well… you always did have a knack for keeping me on my toes.”

  She tilted her head toward him, eyes warm despite her exhaustion. “You’re still here, though.”

  His voice was almost a whisper. “Yeah. I’m still here.”

  The apartment was quiet, almost too quiet. Eve glanced around, her fingers brushing the wall as if grounding herself.

  “This feels… strange,” she murmured.

  Ethan shot her a concerned look. “Strange how?”

  “Like…” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Like I’m out of place in my own home.”

  Ethan’s heart clenched. He didn’t know what to say, so he settled for the one thing he could offer.

  “You’re home now,” he said softly. “That’s what matters.”

  Eve’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile. “Yeah… I guess it does.”

  She turned toward her room but paused, glancing back at both Ethan and Orin. There was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

  “Make yourselves at home,” she said lightly, though her voice wavered at the end. Her gaze lingered on Ethan.

  “Will you… still be here when I wake up?”

  Ethan’s breath hitched, but he managed a soft smile.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Eve nodded faintly, her shoulders relaxing as she finally retreated into her room.

  Silence hung between Ethan and Orin after Eve’s door clicked shut.

  Ethan let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. He glanced at Orin, his voice quiet but firm.

  “Okay,” he said. “Now tell me what’s really going on.”

  Orin’s golden eyes met Ethan’s, the usual stoic mask fractured—just enough for Ethan to glimpse the burden he carried, the truth that would change everything. For the first time, Ethan noticed a flicker of something in them—something fragile, almost human.

  “I gave her back what was taken,” Orin said evenly. “But it isn’t hers. It’s… borrowed.”

  Ethan’s chest tightened. “Borrowed?”

  “She feels it too,” Orin continued. “Her body knows. And…” He hesitated, then sighed. “It won’t last.”

  Ethan’s fists clenched at his sides. “How long?”

  Ethan turned away, staring at the closed door where Eve slept.

  Three years.

  Time.

  But not enough.

  He exhaled shakily, his voice barely audible.

  “…Then what do I have to do?”

  Orin’s golden eyes flickered in the dim light. His next words were quiet, but they carried the weight of inevitability.

  “You already know the answer, Ethan.” Ethan’s breath caught—because the truth had always been there, unspoken but undeniable. And it terrified him.